Mad Man Walking

He walks lopsided
shaking his head
agitated,
irritated,
he has a swarm of bees
inside his head.

He paces wide strides, up
and down the median strip
fast,
furious,
going on a journey
but turning back.

His feet retrace
crushed grass outlines
repetitively,
obsessively
he’s a caged animal
staring at the bars.

He mutters
and shouts
at his voices
negotiating peace.

The argument gets louder
voices more insistent
he holds his head steady
in his hands ready
to stop dead.

He screams shrill bursts,
knots of pain
unravelling,
loosening
their grip on him.

He stands statue still,
catatonic still,
locked in a gesture
face frozen.
He stays
that way
’til the winds stirs.

Who the hell you calling crazy?...

 

 

 

 

 

 

© M.L.Emmett

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Filed under Madness, Poem

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